#sigerposts;

Siger Holmes was a stone cold bastard. This was a fact that anybody that had ever worked with him knew. Yes, he was efficient, but he was not your friend. In fact, many people highly doubted that he had any friends at all. This was true, of course - he saw no need for such things - but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t respect other figures.

Malcolm Tucker impressed him. The other man had grown a lot since the old days - when he had first entered the world of politics and Siger had been in a prime position to push the younger man about. That was hardly going to happen anymore though, not with this hard, vicious persona that he had carved out for himself - a fact that was both irritating Siger and, unexpectedly, made him smile somewhat.

Certainly, Malcolm had earnt his respect, and it was for that reason that Siger approached him as they so happened to be leaving Whitehall for the night at the same time.

Why his son was so childishly stubborn, Siger would never know. Perhaps it was his own fault - he was hardly a docile man himself - but, then again, his late wife had also been rather headstrong. Not that such a thing was necessarily a bad trait, mind you - Siger had certainly utilised it to his advantage in his career. Sherlock, however, seemed more included to use it in the name of keeping petty grudges.

Ah. Putrefaction. But it wasn’t really the smell of rotting flesh that was creeping into the room, just a clever approximation.  Sherlock’s lips twitched slightly, hands clasped behind his back. Then he took a deep sniff of the air, catching the awful scent in question and grimacing briefly.

 “That’ll be the Phallaceae, more commonly known as Stinkhorn mushrooms.” Sherlock replied, his tone always that bit more chipper when he knew his Father was irritated by something. And that there may be potential to irritate him further. “There have been claims that it possesses aphrodisiac qualities, but most scientists disregard this- it’s more likely rumour inspired by the mushrooms phallic shape.”

One day, Siger was going to completely disown his son. In fact, the only reason why he hadn’t yet was because he was somewhat certain that Sherlock wanted him to do such a thing. As irritating as that boy was, he didn’t deserve the satisfaction of getting his own way.

“And why exactly are you growing such a thing?” Siger questioned, shaking his head at the mere idea of it. There better be a good reason for this nonsense - not any of that ridiculous research for the sake of research talk! However, knowing the disappointment that his son was, he suspected that he was going to end up even more irritated than he already was by the time he returned to his hotel.

Jeremy’s expression froze.

For one wild, fleeting moment, he entertained the fantasy of denying everything. He could do it– he knew he could do it– he had plausible deniability, and the wonderful anonymity of a common first name.

But some things are inevitable, and the fallout of lying to Siger Holmes (or worse still: Siger Holmes Discovering He’d Been Lied To) had…professional consequences. Not to mention personal.

Some men can turn you fifteen again with a look. Some men knew you back when you wore Doc Martins and thought black lipstick was the height of ‘Cool’. Some men have the capacity to call you ‘Jeremy Harker’ and get away with it.

…But he was an adult now, with his own bloody Foundation and his own bloody Job. He wasn’t going to be intimidated by a fucking Politician. Let alone Mycroft’s father.

Jeremy took a deep breath, cursed every person under the sun who had organised this event, and turned.

“Mr Holmes,” he said, holding out a hand. “What a–”

Wasn’t going to say Pleasure. Wasn’t going to say Nice.

“–Surprise to see you here.”

“…Frankly, I was under the impression you had retired.”

It had taken Siger a moment to spot it, but that was undoubtedly the late Jonathan Harker’s boy. How interesting. From time to time, he had wondered where he had ended up - especially after his own son’s friendship with the man. Presumably the other had taken over his father’s business, something that had clearly forced the foolish boy to smarten up considerably.

“Sir Holmes, Mr Harker,” Siger corrected with a tone of somewhat disdain, shaking the offered hand with a grim that was purposely a little too firm. Thought the other had changed his appearance, he apparently still had a lot to learn about how to be polite at these kinds of events. One of the first rules was to know who you were speaking with and to not get their name incorrect - including their title.

“It is a good thing that you are no longer in contract with Mycroft.” That was assumes on Siger’s behalf but, from his point of view, it seemed ridiculous that his son would still talk to Jeremy. “He is an Earl now, you know. I am sure that you would get that wrong too.”

Send ✒️ for me to go through my own meme tag and select something to reply to as if you had sent it yourself! ("No. No, you don't talk, okay? You just do as you're told.") Siger @ Charles

Needless to say, Siger was not a man who would usually tolerate being spoken to in such a way. Were anybody else doing it, he would have had some very sharp words to say in response, but he had a begrudging respect for Charles. They were, in many ways, similar men. In fact, if they were to ignore the other man's state of being, they'd be practically identical.

Siger supposed that was why he had been chosen for this 'honour'. His methods were similar to those that Charles used, and therefore they were approved of. If the shoe were on the other foot and Siger were the one in need of somebody to snap a, well, whatever Arthur and Charles were to each other, out of irritatingly foolish habits, then he too would turn to somebody who utilised similar methods to his own.

That did not, however, change the fact that he did not want to babysit a fully grown immortal menace. Not for free, anyway.

Outer Range Sentences, Vol. 1

And what the bloody hell was that supposed to mean? To say Siger was unimpressed would be an understatement, but then again, when wasn't that the case? He was not, and never would be, a man known for smiling or displaying anything other than various forms of contempt.

If anyone else had said the words that Arthur had, Siger wouldn't have hesitated to respond with a series of well-aimed words from a cruel tongue. Here, though, he was unfortunately aware of a sense of hierarchy between the two of them, as well as societal rules when it came to the treatment of guests. Because of that, despite his stern look, he forced himself to maintain some kind of façade of politeness.

"I am not quite sure I understand your meaning."

What he wanted to say, of course, was that a man such as Arthur, who was currently under supervision because he could not be trusted with his own health, not so dissimilar to a child, should perhaps have a look at himself before he began throwing around accusations of 'darkness' or any other flaw.

"I know not of what darkness you speak, but your concern is appreciated."

Foundation Sentences, Vol. 1

The answer to that question was obvious. SIger had been thinking about his legacy for a very long time, the concept having been established in his mind from a young age, as it had his parents, and their parents too. He'd done the same with his sons, though they had proved disappointing when it came to the matter. There was a little hope remaining with Mycroft, at least. With Sherlock, though? That boy was undoubtedly a failure.

"Yes, I do," Siger replied. He assumed that Professor Moriarty did the same. He seemed to be a rather intelligent man. SIger had seen the professor's name on books in his wife's study. As much as he had to say about Violet, he couldn't deny that she was rather smart - if she thought Moriarty's work was worth reading, then it likely was. Not that Siger would ever admit that aloud, of course.

His eldest son also seemed enamoured by the man, but Siger thought less about that particular opinion. Mycroft was still a mere child; what did he know of the world?

True Detective Sentences, Vol. 1

That was certainly sentiment that Siger could agree with. In fact, he had been saying exactly the same thing for years now. Those that were wise had listened to him, and those that were not? Well, they tended not to last very long.

He knew who he was speaking to, of course. A stint as the Foreign Secretary had exposed him to the inner workings of MI6, and considering the other man's idea of 'covert', it hadn't been hard to learn to recognise him. As unpleasant as Siger could be, though, he was still a patriot, and he was not about to blow an agent's cover - so, when he bumped in 'Edgar Longshadow' in the British Embassy, he had done his due diligence and pretended that they had never met each other before.

"Quite so," Siger agreed, raising his glass a little as if to say cheers to the statement. "The few with long memories, they're who one needs to watch for, even if they do not appear to hold a grudge."